


New Option

by Ayngelcat



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Adult Content, Angst, F/M, Sexual References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayngelcat/pseuds/Ayngelcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's difficult for Arcee when she feels the need for interface. Every Autobot at the base wants to provide the service, and so does a certain Decepticon with whom she's become unwittingly entangled. Meanwhile Smokescreen gets on her nerves - but maybe he has better prospects than she first imagined?</p><p>Written for tf_speedwriting 2/3/13. Proompt: "Awkward Romance."</p><p>*Warnings* for mention of robots interfacing in sexual way. Method non specific.</p><p>Set late in Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Option

“So anyway – I was wondering if you’d like to kinda hook up with me and go for a spin?”

Had Arcee just heard that right?

One look at the eager look in the blue optics below the gleaming red chevron, the shining blue chest plate and freshly polished headlights told her that _yeah, she had heard it right._

Smokescreen smiled lopsidedly. He had that ‘stance’ they all got when they were ‘hopeful.’ The _here I am, I know you can’t wait to frag me_ look. A not too well disguised aroma of lubricants and fresh wax floated in the warm air of the base.

He moved closer. “So - waddya reckon?”

Arcee fought the instinct to either laugh out loud or tell him exactly what she thought, in no uncertain terms; and to ask him how _dare_ he approach a senior officer in this manner -  which surely was the height of his so far insufferable attitude.

Yet the curious awareness that no matter what an obnoxious jerk he could be, she couldn’t help liking him returned. And had she not been relieved when he returned from the Decepticon warship with the two keys (and rather proud of him?)

Nevertheless, she stood back, regarding him with her hand on her hip. “Don’t you think I’m just a little out of your league?”

His face fell. “Hell no!” he exclaimed. “I mean well – yeah! I mean – well …” he looked suddenly perplexed and out of his depth. “I dunno. I thought we could maybe – you know – talk …” His face lit up. Again, that irrepressible enthusiasm. “And then …”

“And then maybe you show your superiors the respect they deserve?’ Arcee cut in, frowning. “Sure! I’d be delighted ….” Collecting up her weapons, she made for the door. “But we hardly need to go for a ‘spin’ to do that. Meet me back here in a couple of hours time.”

 _And we’ll talk all right_ , she thought. And by the time I’ve finished you won’t be flaunting yourself around like some kinda playmech, any more than you’ll be touting yourself as the next Prime.

Smokescreen was most happy. “Ooohh yeah – awesome!” he punched the air. He was sure even Ratchet didn’t have her eating out of his hand like this.

 ……………….

But it really wasn’t a good day for Arcee. For the tingling in her interface circuits as she walked to her quarters told her only too clearly that in fact it _was_ time she had her nodes serviced by one of them.

And that was where the fun would start. For Ratchet would assume it would be him, but Prime would suggest that a leadership interface was timely, given the recent issues. And then Ratchet would be disappointed, and Bulkhead would go into a jealous sulk; for even though there was only that couple of times, and he _knew_ she didn’t like it rough and thought him too big, he had persisted.

Bumblebee would look at them all despairingly, and the kids would be totally confused but thank Primus at least the lack of information divulged to them about _connective satisfaction_ meant she wouldn’t have to explain herself on that score.

And seriously – Smokescreen thought _he_ was getting into the mix?

“You have to be kidding,” Arcee muttered as she opened the door to her quarters. It irked her considerably that interfacing was even necessary at all. Why hadn’t the disconnection of the pleasure centre in her sensory cortex been an option as she’d suggested?

“You don’t want that. It’s what makes Autobots the way we are. We can keep in touch with our feelings, see?” Ratchet had gently explained. Though his ulterior motives had been obvious.

 _Prime, then._ It was the safest option, the easiest to objectively justify. He didn’t exactly ‘do it’ for her (and to be honest, he wasn’t that good) but he was considerate and gentle, and would satisfy the itch for the time being. Besides, the ‘face would be good for the cause.

Better that than certain other alternatives. Especially the ones that weren’t exactly _here_ on the base.

Arcee stiffened, her footsteps echoing loudly as her frown returned. In need may she be, but she didn’t have to stoop to considering _that._

……………………..

The day got worse.

The kids, as it turned out, were grounded. It was Jack’s fault - evidently - although _how_ , Arcee had yet to ascertain, so difficult was it to get a word in edgeways. Bulkhead grumbled away about Miko – but he gave her looks that Arcee knew had little to do with the kid and everything to do with not having approached him already about her _needs._

Meanwhile, Bumblebee interjected with reproachful and sad sounding beeps, apparently oblivious to Bulkhead’s thwarted amour.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. But at times like this ….

Such a relief when they finally left. By which time Arcee had established that there really wasn’t anything she could do, but she would try and talk to Agent Fowler later and see if he could diffuse matters by taking June Darby out somewhere nice.

 _Agent Fowler and June._ Now there was a nice, pleasing thought. They were both so decent, so well suited. But _dang it,_ even _that_ had brought thoughts about the interface issue plummeting back into her processor.

And the complications. And after what had happened just now, it was obvious Bulkhead would be jealous.

Arcee let out a sigh. Instinctively, she ran a hand down her side and over her aft and thigh, realizing from the way her exoskin tingled that she had to do something about this soon. Perhaps she could get away with just fixing up herself? She was about to repeat the exercise. But it was then that she saw the message ….

...............

It flashed in red letters, impossible to ignore, as all the arrogant blatancy of its writer shouted from the screen. Thank Primus it hadn’t appeared when the others were here. But that was about all there was to be thankful for.

 _I’m still here!!_ It said. _Hey - give up the fight, sweetspark, the ‘Bots just don’t ‘have it’ – and you know it. Can they make you scream and thrash like I do? I don’t think so, and I’ll bet you never offline._

_That time in the canyon really was SOMETHING. Why babe - I thought it was the start of a lasting and beautiful relationship. What are you – what are we - waiting for?_

_Just want you to know that I’m existing in an agony of anticipation. Don’t make me wait much longer._

Arcee cursed at the surge that went through her circuits, more intense than if the whole Autobot contingent had converged to satisfy her needs, with this one sole object in mind.

Going to the screen, she sat down furiously, and keyed in _Go frag yourself Knock Out_ so hard that by the time her fingers had finished clicking, two of the keys had shattered.

Then she hit ‘delete,’ watching with satisfaction as all traces of the writing disappeared.

“I’d rather frag an insecticon,” she snarled. But even as she said it, she despaired at how far it was far from true. And she may have fobbed him off - _again_ \- but the effect was undeniable. The ache in her entire interface relay system had shot up to painful proportions.

 Weary, frustrated, Arcee flung herself on the berth and offlined her optics. If _only_ Ratchet had done as she’s asked....

…………………….

Arcee lay there for more than a few moments, intaking deeply to cool her systems and telling herself again and again that Optimus Prime could and _would_ have the desired effect (he was Optimus Prime wasn’t he) and that she definitely didn’t need assistance. Not from Ratchet, not from Bulkhead; and - however good it undeniably was - certainly not from …. Oh Primus, she didn’t even want to think his name.

“Arcee? Hello – I mean _come in_. I mean - are you there?”

 _Smokescreen._ That’s right, she had an appointment with him. Oh great. This was all she needed.

“I - er – I’m sorry if I overstepped the mark earlier.” The voice was so anxious, so eager to please. “It was out of order from one so junior. I am trying to learn my place – honest. Please accept my apology!” It said.

She imagined him agitating in the mess room, his components twitching. She could almost see the salute.

Despite all, Arcee smiled to herself, a warmth spreading through her spark. Maybe he _was_ learning after all. Although doubtless if she gave him any quarter, any quarter at all, that insufferable over-confidence would return ….

Arcee onlined her optics. The _confidence._ Was that not what had drawn her irrevocably to Knock Out? That he was so sure of his abilities, so smooth and certain in his techniques? So cocky as a medic - and so clever at bringing sensors she hadn’t even known she’d had to a state of arousal she hadn’t though herself even capable of?

And yet for all his ‘talents’ there was a vulnerability in the Decepticon; sorrow at the loss of Breakdown, inner torment and self doubt when it came to the battlefield. It had clutched at her spark, seeming to make his talents when he was away from the conflict even more appealing.

Arcee sat up. Smokescreen was, now she thought about it, not dissimilar. _So_ confident – yet vulnerable; almost in need of protection. They were of similar appearance too - almost the same frames and alt modes – in fact; and almost the same proportions. They were both handsome - Smokescreen if anything more so. And Smokescreen had that ‘attitude’ – at times every bit as much as his adversary.

But – Smokescreen was an Autobot. His spark was uncorrupted, and he was sure in his allegiances. He suffered no agonies about being forced into his choices. Cruel masters  had not tipped him from the slightly unbalanced to the borderline psychotic.

And Arcee had to be honest. The real fury she felt at her attraction to Knock Out was as much at being drawn in deeper than mere sexual pleasure, at getting tied up with a damaged mech she would never be able to help – or fix. Ever.

_The futility of falling for the self destructive. Cliffjumper was like that too – though he did not have their looks._

Whereas Smokescreen? He might just be salvageable. And he had all the attractive qualities of mechs like Knock Out, but none of the ones that rendered things hopeless.

_And no secret, shameful cavortings in hidden canyons: he’s right here._

Arcee doubted that Smokescreen could rival Knock Out when it came to the subject of her current predicament. (Although who knew what he got up to at the Iacon Hall of Records, maybe he did?) But if not, he could certainly be taught. No doubt this would be a somewhat awkward ‘romance.’ But perhaps less awkward than with _any_ of the others she had thought about today.

“Arcee? You there?” An almost plaintiff whine had entered the vocalizer.

She activated the comm. “Say, I’m sorry mech – I got kinda tied up,” she said. “But I got an idea. Why don’t you meet me here, Smokescreen? It’ll save me coming all the way back up there.”

The joy was palpable. “You got it!”

Arcee clicked off the comm resolutely. She felt rather pleasantly excited – in  a warm sort of a way. This was definitely an option worth exploring – for now.


End file.
